Black Flies
by A Day Too Late - 45
Summary: He will be like these black flies that lay dead on this windowsill- slowly suffocating in this prison, watching the world pass by while he lay to waste in the oppressive heartache and silence.


**Was browsing around my documents when I stumbled upon this little hunk of almost finished heartbreak and decided 'eh, why not?'**

**Hope you enjoy**

* * *

Rain fell in torrents, drenching everything in its wake. It slammed into the window panes with savage ferocity, trying to drown him in his own home.

(Impossible, of course, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't humor it)

She didn't seem to care though. She was determined, he knew, by the stubborn gleam in her eye. Her tears did nothing to hinder that.

Nothing could hinder her when she was like this.

(That's why he knows it's too late to plead)

They stare at each other for a while, both not willing to end it like this. So abruptly, so _cowardly._

Because they were anything _but._

(But sometimes people change and it's just a matter of _how much?_)

Their gazes are unwavering, both trying to salvage something from the other. Just a little spark- anything but the familiar indifference that ghosted between them.

It started out gradually enough. Shorter kisses, longer absences. There were no more sweet words uttered as they fell asleep, just a stiff silence and even stiffer bodies. No more 'I love you' when they left their housings. Everything was filled with awkward silences and fleeting glances at one another, trying to discern how to fill this new found disinterest.

And then she got a job offer and, well… he's never heard her agree to something so fast.

Percy still had trouble truly comprehending how his Wise Girl- the one who was willing to take a knife for him and wait eight months to travel across the continent for her boyfriend who had the possibility of _not even remembering her_- could just up and throw everything they had away.

It was incomprehensible. And it wasn't supposed to happen. Not to them.

Weren't they the exception? Didn't they go through enough? Hadn't Aphrodite had enough fun turning their love life into the sickest rollercoaster of them all?

They were supposed to get married- to have children, and watch them grow and have their own. They were supposed to grow old together- to sit on their front porch old and wrinkled but so very much young and youthful in their love, holding hands till one of them breathes their last breath and the other soon follows, both dying with the love for the other painted on their smiling lips.

Wasn't that why he wasn't sitting up on Olympus bickering with the gods this very minute?

(Percy supposes that its better they figured this out now rather than later. He doesn't think he could handle taking care of children without Annabeth holding his hand throughout the entire process.)

She wonders if she's doing the right thing. Maybe if she stays for just a moment longer, his presence will give her that final push to stay here and let herself be his forever. But it's not enough to just look at his swirling eyes and crooked grin anymore. She needs to move on.

Which is why she grits her teeth and leaves like a Band-Aid. Fast- so it doesn't hurt as much.

(She laughs at her ignorance)

She spares him but a fleeting glance before she's gone.

(She wonders why he didn't let the water take her away. Isn't it what she deserves? But then she remembers he's good ole loyal Seaweed Brain and her heart shatters into the likeness of the sand they used to walk on)

He leans against the windowsill and watches her leave. His heart beats faster and faster as she opens the car door, trying to escape and run after its departing equivalent.

(_If only she could understand just how much my heart still beats for her_, he thinks bitterly. _Maybe then she'd stay_)

He leans his forehead against the cool window and lets his breath fog the glass, but he can still see her through the haze. Still see her glowing princess curls he had always loved.

(He thinks it fitting that the first thing he notices about her is also the last)

And then she's gone and he stays that way for a long, _long_ time. Not seeing, just staring.

(Not believing)

Grief clings to him like a cloak, and silence reins. He knows it will rein for a long, _long_ time without his Wise Girl. If it weren't for her, there would be no sound because there would be no living library sprouting facts and spewing intelligent sounding words and sentences that always ended in an argument about how, 'No, Annabeth, that is not a word and nothing you say or do can convince me otherwise.'

He will be like these black flies that lay dead on this windowsill- slowly suffocating in this prison, watching the world pass by while he lay to waste in the oppressive heartache and silence. He would be a pest to those around him but they would forget in due time. They would end up either throwing him away or block him out entirely. There would be no savior to set him free.

(Because she left him to slowly suffocate on his own)

* * *

**Hmm. I don't know how to feel about this. I'm not exactly a romance- or ya know, breakup- expert, so this is probably... umm, less than adequate?**

**Either way, I'm kind of happy with it, I suppose. Not my best, not my worst.**

**Mediocre- there's the word I'm looking for.**

**Black Flies ~ Ben Howard- My inspiration for this.**


End file.
